Awakened Dreams and Practical Uses
by N3GatorFan
Summary: Years ago, Dr. Henry Morgan had buried any desire to visit, or even live, in New York. One day, he finds those dreams coming back to life in the most improbable way—through a bridge. One-shot.


**Disclaimer:** The concept, canon, and canon characters belong to _Forever_ creator Matt Miller and Warner Bros. Studios. All other characters and the plot for the story are my own creation. I have posted the story here, and I don't profit from it. (Translation: I don't own it. If I were the owner to the rights, then we would be talking Season 3 plotlines and spoilers right now instead of hoping that someone would produce Season 2.)

 **Author's Note** : This one-shot was inspired by an "On This Day" feature in my local newspaper. I hope that you will enjoy it.

As for the rating, it can be considered a K+ story, but I rated it T, just in case.

* * *

 _ **East End of London, May 25, 1883**_

The people and sounds of London's East End began to bother Dr. Henry Morgan as he walked down the brick street. He gave a glancing look at the carts filled with sawyers' and carvers' wares as they made their way to the local stores and to the London Docks. Ordinarily, he would take great delight in talking to the cane workers, shoemakers, and tailors who attempted to live normal lives among the squalid conditions that threatened their existence. Today, though, he was tired from a long day of work, and he looked forward to changing out of his blood-stained clothes and eating some dinner.

Yet, he felt euphoric in spite of his fatigue. He had participated in something that he had not often had the pleasure of doing in his 80 years of being a doctor. He had assisted in bringing a new life into the world. Mrs. Gilfrey's contractions had begun just before her husband had started his daily work as an upholsterer. He summoned the immortal doctor as Henry passed by the estate house where the Gilfreys lived. The delivery had been difficult, but Mrs. Gilfrey had given birth to a healthy baby boy. Henry smiled as he remembered the parents naming their son after him as a token of their gratitude. His wish was for the child to survive into adulthood.

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it!" A young boy's singsong voice pierced Henry's thoughts and caused him to stop. Henry looked at the child. He couldn't be much more than eight years old. His large, ragged clothes and his gaunt appearance broke Henry's heart. The immortal wished that he could take the boy in and give him a proper upbringing. The child, however, wasn't his, and the boy's family probably needed the money to survive.

Henry noticed the newspaper in the boy's hand. The older man bit his lower lip and reached into his pocket. He felt the necessary change and pulled it out. He and the boy exchanged money for wares. The child started to place the coin in his pocket, but he stopped and inspected it. A smile formed in the boy's eyes and on his face.

Henry looked at the coin. He thought that he had handed the young lad a threepence. Instead, he had given the child a shilling. Henry leaned over and smiled. "Keep the change."

"Yes, sir! Thank you!" The boy hastily placed the shilling into his pocket and pulled another newspaper from the stack that he held beside him. "Extra! Extra!"

Henry folded his edition and slipped it in his medicine bag as he stepped away from the child. He smiled again. The change could pay for some much needed food for the boy and his family or for a couple of more days' rent in the dilapidated estate house that they likely shared with eight other large families.

Henry then walked the next few blocks to the local fish and chips shop for a quick and light meal. He took it back to the estate house where he lived. He tiredly wove his way through the people streaming in and out of the rooms. Once he was in his room, a proper bedroom, he walked over to the bed and set his meal and his medicine bag on it. He then removed a clean shirt and a pair of pants from the wardrobe across from the bed and set them on the bed's foot. He walked over to the end table with a water bowl sitting on it. He removed his blood-stained clothes, took a rag, and gave himself a quick wipe with the tepid water before changing into his clean clothes.

The smell of the fish and chips convinced him to quickly set his dirty clothes with the others and to partake of his meal. He sat down on the bed and unwrapped the newspaper that contained the food. The meal looked too tempting to resist.

As he took a bite of his fish, he heard his neighbors on the other side of the wall. On one side of his room, a family struggled to keep their three other children quiet so that the landlord wouldn't overhear them and remove the family from the premises. In the room on the other side of Henry's, a man instructed his only son in toymaking. One sniff of the air told Henry that a third family had baked pies earlier in the day.

Henry thought of the newspaper boy again, and his euphoria vanished. The young lad was unwittingly leading a life that others had planned for him long before his birth—even long before Henry's birth. First, the slave trade had separated families, forced countless people to work as machines in exchange for second-rate necessities, and killed people's dreams of a life filled with met needs and fulfilled hopes for oneself and for one's children. Now, industrialization destroyed people's hopes and dreams in the same way that the slave traders, including Henry's own father, had nearly 75 years ago.

Henry had always tried to help others, especially the less fortunate. No matter what he did, though, it didn't seem to alleviate the suffering that he saw on a daily basis. Instead, the sorrows of the world desired to consume almost everyone in its fiery path. Even the newborn Henry Gilfrey would not be able to escape the pain that the world sought to inflict on him.

The immortal doctor sighed before taking a bite of his chips. He wondered when he had become so cynical. He remembered his life over the last 104 years. Early on, he had lived in other countries after a public death or a familiar friend had threatened to expose him. He had adopted the attitude of an explorer with each new start, taking in as much of the culture as he could so that he could blend in. When his immortality interrupted his life, he saw each end as a chance for a fresh start filled with adventure and excitement.

Over the last eighteen years, though, Henry had restricted the geographic boundaries of each new start to England and the United Kingdom. The limitation wasn't due to a fatigue from his adventures. Rather, it was Elizabeth's death at the hands of Nora that sobered him to the realities of the world around him. After Elizabeth's funeral, Henry thought about his purpose in life. Her selfless sacrifice convinced him that he should do more with his time than indulge in the pleasures that life could bring. He had been that selfless once before—from his early childhood until the seconds before he had become immortal. He needed to find a way to be that selfless again.

He thought of how London had changed since his return home after years of living in various places throughout Europe and North America. Each day brought more news of how industrialization was changing Britain for the worse. As a result, the poor and the immigrants developed illnesses that could be prevented—by a doctor's care. At that moment, Henry decided that he wanted to stay in his mother country to help the poor and the immigrants. The familiarity of his homeland and the nature of his work over the years had created a pleasant predictability that had given him a sense of purpose.

Looking back now, that monotony must had lured him to sleep. What happened to the young Henry Morgan who was so filled with dreams and hopes for the future? Maybe his immortality had killed them while he wasn't looking.

He needed something to distract himself from his increasingly dismal thoughts. He looked at the medicine bag and fished the newspaper out of it. As he took another bite of his chips, he skimmed the announcements, ship schedules, advertisements, and court testimonies. A more in-depth reading could wait until later. He began reading the next page, this one filled with news about changes in foreign governments and various events in far-flung countries. Soon, he reached the bottom of the page's next-to-the-last column. Nothing much had happened in Canada and the United States overnight.

Suddenly, two paragraphs caught his attention as he began to finish his meal. Government officials had dedicated a new bridge between the cities of Brooklyn and New York yesterday, and the bridge's opening prompted a large celebration.

Henry read and re-read the paragraphs. He remembered the occasional stories about the East River's bridge in _The Times_ over the past fourteen years. Recently, the posts about the American bridge had become more frequent as its construction drew close to completion. He had given each dispatch a brief skim before he had moved on to other news. Now, he didn't know why, but the story about the bridge's opening refused to let him go.

He looked up and swallowed his last bite of fish. He surprisingly heard his paternal grandfather's voice ask him, "Henry, how would you like to accompany me to New York?"

Henry shook his head at the unexpected memory. _That was a lifetime ago._

Nevertheless, his grandfather's words plunged Henry into his past. New York had fascinated him since he was a young child. One day, he had overheard his parents discussing one of his father's business trips there. Spellbound, Henry sat down in the spot where he had stopped and eagerly listened to every detail of his father's description of the city. After that moment, Henry wanted to know everything about New York. He spent his youth reading about the city in the newspapers and eavesdropping on his father and his business associates' discussions about their business trips there.

When Henry was seventeen, his grandfather wanted to him to accompany him on a business venture to the American city. The young lad eagerly said yes. He thought that his trip with his grandfather would be the first of many excursions to the city. Unfortunately, Henry and his grandfather never finished the journey; a storm forced them to turn back to London about two-thirds of the way into the voyage.

Yet, New York had continued to capture his attention as an adult. After he learned of the Morgan Shipping Company's involvement in the slave trade, he planned to move there with Nora as he had given up hope that he could alter his father's immoral business dealings. A few months later, he planned to resettle the 300 slaves aboard _The Empress of Africa_ in the city. For nearly half a century after his first death, he had entertained the idea of visiting New York when he had the opportunity. The closest that he had come to fulfilling that dream was when he joined the Hudson Bay Company. The ship had docked in New York Harbor while en route to Fort Vancouver, but he had stayed aboard to tend to two deathly-ill patients.

His immortality always offered him a chance to fulfill his wish of seeing New York. Each death and move, however, had forced him to move to a new place using what limited resources that he owned. As a result, his dreams of visiting New York had to wait.

Henry felt the weight of the used newspaper pull him out of the past. He momentarily glanced at it. He needed to turn his attention to the here and now, starting with the piece of rubbish in his hands. He rose from the bed and placed his wrappings with his other trash before finishing his newspaper. He devoured as much news as the edition could afford him. In the meantime, he listened to his neighbors and imagined their lives behind his walls.

Soon, night fell, and he needed to relax before bed. As he reached for a book on his end table, his thoughts returned to New York. He tried to imagine the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. He pictured life there: the people, the neighborhoods, the types of entertainment that people enjoyed. If New York was anything like he imagined it, then life there must be exciting.

He chided himself. He had no reason for his musings. His patients' living conditions mattered to him now. They spent their days on the brink between life and death. They needed his full attention on their care. Any indulgence in fantasies deprived them of the care and attention that they desperately needed. He had to bury his hopes and dreams to help them, and him, survive.

Yet, he felt something stir inside of him. He didn't know what it was, but he knew that he was starting to feel a little more excited than he had felt in years. As he began to fall asleep with the book in his hand, he hoped that whatever was awakening in him would survive in the hostile soil that was London's East End.

* * *

 _ **The East River, New York City, United States, July 13, 1889**_

Henry felt his hands breach the air. He propelled himself up one final time. Suddenly, his arms and then his head pushed through the water to the surface. He gasped as he leaned back. The first breath of air began to soothe his burning lungs.

He let the momentary fog in his mind clear as he moved his arms to stay afloat. He remembered the last few moments and chuckled.

"That was different."

He had been hit by carriages and hansoms before. He, however, had _never_ been hit by a dray. Admittedly, he should had been paying attention to the traffic on the streets instead of enjoying the sights, sounds, and culinary smells of New York's Lower East Side. Everything about the city, though, was pleasantly distracting to the city's newest resident.

His delight in city life quickly gave way to a growing sense of sorrow. He had been in New York for only a few weeks. The accident that led to his most recent death had occurred in front of hundreds of possible eyewitnesses. As much as he wanted to stay, he knew that he might have to move again. He felt his hopes and dreams slowly die within him.

Nevertheless, it was futile to speculate about his future until he arrived home. He scanned the skyline in front of him. Nothing looked familiar. He turned around. Again, he didn't recognize any of the buildings. In fact, he didn't know which body of water he was in. Based on his past deaths, he only knew that he likely was in the waters around New York.

Suddenly, the swift waters tugged on his body and threatened to drown him. He leaned onto his back and let the current carry him toward the sea.

His thoughts turned to what brought him to the city of his childhood dreams. A few months ago, he had been walking along Whitechapel Street after a long day of diagnosing illnesses and regretfully informing one family of their loved one's death. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder. The sudden thrust of a blade in his back caused him to wonder if he had just encountered Jack the Ripper. Within minutes, Henry surprised a pair of Bobbies as they patrolled the River Thames. To their credit, the officers brought him before the bench, where he was sentenced to a fine of two shillings, instead of sending him to Bedlam.

A few days later, he returned to the neighborhood to tend to his patients. A young girl screamed as he passed the site of his death. He looked around to see what had frightened her. He was the only person in the area. His heart clenched as he realized that she had witnessed his death. He quickly returned to the estate house, packed his few possessions, and left for the London Docks.

At the docks, he learned that a steamer was leaving for the United States in a few hours. It would arrive in New York to drop off passengers before returning to London. He asked about the fare; it was reasonable. Henry quickly paid the price and had boarded the boat without hesitation.

The passing New York skyline now broke through his thoughts. He wished for a familiar landmark. In London, the Tower of London, Southwark Prison, London Bridge, and, recently, the Clock Tower guided him to shore. In Fort Vancouver, the clearing and the fort served as beacons to land. Here in New York, however, he didn't have any ability to orient himself.

He knew that he must quickly learn the city's shoreline. He immediately decided that he wasn't in New York Harbor. He remembered seeing the recently-constructed Statue of Liberty before arriving at Ellis Island. Now, the copper lady with the gold-leaf torch was nowhere to be seen. This meant that he was either further upstream in the Hudson River or somewhere in the East River.

A dark line suddenly caught his attention. He dropped his legs back into the water and straightened himself so he could see the spectacle. He initially didn't see anything. A quick turn in the water caused the curious object to fill his sight.

He smiled as he studied the structure. The East River Bridge—he corrected himself, the Brooklyn Bridge, as he had heard the natives call it—stood before him. Henry had to admit that Roebling had designed a very aesthetically pleasing passageway—and, for the immortal doctor, a lovely landmark.

The East River's swift current reminded Henry that he shouldn't spend much time admiring Roebling's creation. Henry quickly found the New York entrance to the bridge and turned toward it. He aimed for one of the quieter docks to the right of the tower and swam toward the shoreline.

After his first stroke, his thoughts promptly returned back to the recent weeks. At first, he had been disappointed about life in New York. The Lower East Side wasn't much different from London's East End. Poverty and suffering reigned here almost as much as it did back home. The only difference was that, in New York, people went to the almshouses voluntarily. Henry chided himself for his feelings; he was fortunate that he had quickly found work as one of the area's few doctors who would treat immigrant patients. His employment, however, didn't give him a reason to stay.

That changed one afternoon. Earlier in the day, he felt as though he should return to London. To keep his dismal thoughts at bay, he needed to escape his surroundings. He left the tenement house where he lived and walked to the docks near the East River. He looked out over the water and thought about his life in England.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bridge. The familiar sight reminded him of the years between the bridge's opening and the present. He had spent the years devouring any news from New York. After his landlord had returned to London with a lithograph of the newly-built bridge, Henry found himself admiring the picture. Henry found himself starting to dream of visiting and even living in New York like he did years ago. Furthermore, he began to dream about his future and to try new things again.

He didn't notice what had happened to him. That is, until one day when the police asked him to look into Mary Kelly's murder. He surprised himself when he stayed at the scene and began to study it to see if he could uncover anything that would lead the police to Jack the Ripper. That was very uncharacteristic of him; he usually shied away from murder scenes after a person's death. After an officer had left him with the crime scene, Henry had realized that the change that he began to feel six years before was a sense of feeling alive again.

The sounds of the docks and the water's now shallow depth pulled Henry back into the present. He lowered his feet and touched the river's rocky bottom. After walking ashore, he discovered an alley between two buildings close to the water. He quickly stepped into the entrance, sat down on the ground, and pulled his legs toward him. He then wrapped his arms around his legs to ward off the chill that he felt in spite of the summer heat. He looked at the Brooklyn Bridge and felt his remaining hope begin to grow again.

He smiled as the memories of the rest of his time in New York thus far flooded him. After seeing the Brooklyn Bridge for the first time, Henry had begun to explore the city, starting with his neighborhood. He ate meals at several area restaurants. He began talking to his neighbors and patients and learned more about their lives. He rode on an elevated train for the first time in his life. A couple of new friends, both doctors at Bellevue Hospital Medical College, convinced him to accompany them to a Broadway production. Over the recent weeks, Henry had begun to feel at home in the most exciting city on Earth.

Suddenly, a couple of drops of water hit his wet, bare skin. Henry blinked, and the memories faded. He looked up at the sky. During his unexpected swim, clouds had begun to gather. A couple of more drops of water on his skin suggested that it was time to return home.

Henry rose from his spot and walked down the street. The sounds of the traffic greeted him as he drew closer to the city. He smiled. Perhaps no one noticed his death. Likely, they were busy pursuing their dreams, just like he was.

A few more raindrops fell on him. He hoped that he could make it before the rain began—or before he drew the officers' attention. If there was one aspect that of his life in New York that he wanted to avoid, it was spending the night in jail. Henry quickly reached the street and began his journey home.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Two notes:

The first one is a mini-epilogue. If Jo and Lt. Reece look deep enough into the New York Police Department archives, they will find two very interesting records. On Saturday, July 13, 1889, a passing police officer saw a commotion near Avenue B on the Lower East Side. When he arrived, a dray driver told him that he had hit something. He didn't know what he had hit as he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. People at the scene claimed that they didn't see anything either.

Within minutes of the accident, one Dr. Henry Morgan was arrested for lewdness and lasciviousness near the corner of East 10th Street and Avenue D on the Lower East Side. Henry told the arresting officers that he had decided to take a swim in the river and that someone had stolen his clothes while he wasn't looking. Officers loaned him some pants and a shirt and sent him home—after a night in jail. It is the first of Henry's many arrests in New York City.

Secondly, I took a little liberty with the East End scenes and with the weather for July 13, 1889. I don't know whether _The Times_ employed newspaper boys or if someone would open a pub or even a fish and chips store in one of the worst slum areas of London. So, I decided to take a chance and wrote them as if they did. As for New York's weather, I couldn't find any information about the day in question. I, however, did find some average climatological data for July 13 in general and used it in the story.


End file.
